


Heard it Through the Grapevine

by shihadchick



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: Domestic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-13
Updated: 2011-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-19 08:23:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shihadchick/pseuds/shihadchick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's all kinds of things on the internet...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heard it Through the Grapevine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eledhwenlin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eledhwenlin/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Eledh. <3333 And thanks for jocondite for beta and for contributing words when I got stuck. <3  
> Canon-mostly-compliant domestic fic, set August 2010, ie when I actually started writing it, OOPS.

Spencer's spread out on the couch, giving serious consideration to either heading down to the basement to do some practice, or to going outside and taking another stab at trying what passes for gardening in California - not that much survives out there in summer when they forget to get the gardening service in. Or, okay, trying to find a terrible reality TV marathon. Maybe America's Next Top Whatever will inspire him. To get off the couch, possibly, at least.

Of course, that's difficult when he hears Brendon clomping down the stairs, having surfaced from whatever reading he'd been deep in half an hour ago when Spencer had been wandering around emanating Bored.

He climbs over the back of the couch with a casual disregard of both good manners and the not-exactly-cheap leather, and throws himself on top of Spencer like a starfish, with a graceless "Oof!"

"That hurt," Spencer complains. Brendon might not weigh much, but he's got it where it counts, at least when where it's counting is dangerously close to your balls.

"Serves you right, lazybones," Brendon says loftily, and then, "Ow!" when Spencer pinches him in retaliation.

"I have to entertain myself somehow, if you're busy being surgically attached to the internet or whatever. Speaking of lazy."

"I wasn't- Hey, I was doing research, okay?"

Spencer snorts. "What for?"

Brendon curls into Spencer on the couch, digging his nose into Spencer's shoulder. It's unnervingly similar to the way Milo and Boba will try to snuggle, but at least Brendon drools less. Usually.

“Someone needs to keep up with what they’re saying on the internet. It’s a sacrifice, but it’s one I’m willing to make.”

“What are they saying?” Spencer asks. “’Oh my god, I want to marry that hottie Brendon Urie and have eleven thousand of his babies!!!’?” As far as he's aware, mostly what the internet thinks is in capital letters and bad spelling, and involves far too much time wasting on YouTube. Not that he's not guilty of all three himself, from time to time.

“Well, obviously,” Brendon says without a hint of false modesty. “The ones that don’t think we’re dating, although I’m sure they still think I’m a hottie.”

“They don’t think that,” Spencer says decisively. He’s seen all the same links Brendon has. “About the dating. I’m not going to comment on the hottie part.”

"Spencer, I'm pretty sure I've seen about three hundred pieces of evidence that our fans spend a lot of time thinking exactly that."

“They don’t think we’re dating,” Spencer corrects, grinning. “They think we’re _gay married._ ”

Brendon snickers into his t-shirt. “How is gay married different from married married? Stop being such a separatist, Spencer.” He hums a little, and Spencer pets his hair. “You know, we could be, actually. If we wanted.”

He sits up and grabs Spencer's MacBook from the table, flips it open--

"Hey," Spencer protests. "I could have had porn open or something!"

"Then I'd make you share," Brendon replies tartly, and opens up the browser window to a news site.

The headline makes Spencer grin. “Oh, that’s awesome,” he says, because it really is.

"I actually found out from Twitter," Brendon admits, and curls back up on the couch with Spencer. "Celebratory makeout time now?"

“We need a reason to make out?” Spencer says, but he’s more than happy to be on board with that plan.

He tugs at Brendon's hip until they're lying more evenly, and Spencer's knees aren't trying to bend the wrong way anymore. He's just gotten one hand up to Brendon's jaw, rubbing over the stubble, his index finger stroking the sensitive spot behind Brendon's ear, and their lips are a mere inch apart when Spencer freezes and starts paying attention to a persistent thought which is clamouring above the background satisfaction and arousal.

"Wait."

Brendon opens his eyes and waits, looking remarkably patient.

"Brendon, were you just proposing to me?" Spencer can feel his stomach twist with nerves almost as soon as the words come out of his mouth, because what if he's overthinking this, what if this scares Brendon off, and then-?

"Maybe?" Brendon shifts awkwardly, and Spencer automatically adjusts his grip to stop him sliding sideways off the couch and onto the coffee table. And Spencer's laptop. It’s _new_.

Spencer raises one eyebrow, and gives Brendon his best "please explain" look. He's perfected it after getting it from his mom - okay, and Zack - more than once, too.

"I think we could, like, think about it, is mostly what I mean?" Brendon’s voice goes up a little at the end of the sentence, like it’s a real question

Spencer smiles back at him, feeling relaxed about, well, everything. "Definitely," he says. "I would definitely like to talk about getting hitched to you someday in the kind of near future."

It's not like they don't already own a house and share custody of their pets and generally make out wherever and whenever they can. "How does talking about it after we have some awesome sweaty still-just-boyfriends sex on the couch sound?"

Brendon, damn him, pretends to think about that for a moment, but the way his fingers are sneakily trying to unbutton Spencer's jeans while he composes his best Exaggerated Thinky Face is something of a dead giveaway.

"I guess we could do something like that," Brendon says finally, and then Spencer laughs.

"What?"

"Mostly I'm just glad I don't have to tell anyone you proposed by showing me CNN and then talking about fucking Twitter."

"You should be so lucky," Brendon says loftily, and Spencer has a sudden and somewhat horrifying suspicion that one of these days he's going to wake up to Brendon proposing to him. Over Twitter.

It’s hard to be appropriately horrified when Brendon is sucking on his neck and sliding a hand into his pants. Spencer puts that on his to-do list for later.


End file.
